The Opportunist
by Nenalata
Summary: Perhaps the only reason he disliked Allen so much was because he made her so unhappy. But it wasn't his place to comment on that.


Neil hadn't expected her to be pretty, but the fact that she was didn't change his attitude towards her. If anything, it made him a little more impatient with her. What use were good looks in the hard life of a farmer? He wasn't terribly surprised when she asked him to explain the basics of animal raising, and when he shook her hand goodbye, her smooth fingers betrayed a life of relative leisure.

_I give her a week_, Neil rolled his eyes to himself as he departed. He only hoped the cow wouldn't suffer for it.

But Rachel lasted the week. She lasted two weeks. And then, when Rebecca moved in and Rachel suddenly showed an aptitude for carpentry, Neil sat up straight and paid attention. The callus-free hands, she explained to him as she expertly hammered a nail in place, were thanks to heavy-duty gloves protecting them as she breezed her way through high school shop class.

Why Neil had even bothered to show up at her farm, much less strike up a conversation with her, was beyond him, and Rachel seemed pretty confused by it, too. He certainly hadn't been especially friendly during her short time in Echo Village. But he didn't think on it too hard and bid her a gruff farewell after a few more topic changes.

He did start to notice when the pathetic little town began to sport benches and streetlights, however. He noticed when Rachel decided to build the kind of annoying newspaper girl's house right next to his. And he noticed when the salon went up and Allen swaggered into town.

Rachel, noticed, too.

But whatever, really. Neil cut his own hair and the few awkward conversations he'd had with the stylist had made it painfully clear that the two had little in common. He shrugged off Allen's existence and continued to be bemused by Rachel's frequent visits and presents of milk each time the quality went up, she claimed.

She was nice, that was for sure. He wasn't certain why she bothered to hang around him so much, but he supposed she didn't have many people her own age to talk to around these parts. And if nothing else, she didn't mind his surliness, neither laughing it off nor taking offense like most people did, so she wasn't terrible company. He still didn't know her very well, but maybe he didn't need to be close with someone to let his walls down a little bit.

Then Rachel started walking down the pitiful excuse for Main Street hand in hand with Allen, and the walls shot up again.

* * *

"I thought he was just being sarcastic, but I see now that that's just who he is."

Neil grunted in response, shoveling another spoonful of fried rice into his mouth. Why she insisted on talking to him when he ate lunch, he'd never understand. He never offered her food and she never asked for it, content to sit and chatter and watch him eat.

"That's all you're giving me?" Rachel stuck her tongue out sideways at him, rolling her eyes in the process. Kind of a grotesque face, really. "You're not even going to ask me to elaborate on my vague comment?"

He swallowed, the rice feeling heavy down his throat. "I don't really care about hearing your boyfriend drama. I'm not a gossip."

Rachel looked hurt, which was a little odd. Some bitter emotion surged in his gut, and he ignored her expression to continue. "Can't you talk to Tina or Iroha instead? I'm sure they'll be much more fascinated by your romance."

She mumbled something.

"What?" he said irritably.

"I said, you're the only one I know who doesn't think Allen is the best thing ever."

Neil scoffed, unable to help himself. Rachel darted her eyes his way, and any sense of decorum his mother always believed he possessed kept him from letting a stream of criticism fly forth from his lips. Instead, he settled for his scoff, focusing his eyes on his meal in the hopes that she'd simply take it as an answer.

She didn't, of course. "That's what I mean," she said earnestly.

"What do I mean? I didn't say anything."

He didn't dare to look at her after his response, sure she'd look crestfallen or hurt again or something that would send an inexplicable rush of guilt through him.

"Okay," he heard her sigh. "Okay. I'll stop talking about him. Let's get off the subject."

And she chattered away about her plans to rescue the town from its spiral towards ghostliness, and he nodded and grunted at the appropriate spots, unsure of why he was even listening. Perhaps, an obnoxious voice in his head suggested, it was because of the way her face lit up when she spoke to him.

* * *

She was starting to look more and more miserable, he couldn't help but notice. Even Allen had taken to asking around. _What's the matter with my girlfriend_?

Of course, for all everyone loved Rachel, no one had heard her complaints. No, only Neil was privy to those steadily more frustrating conversations, and _Neil _sure wasn't going to be the one to tell him that his girlfriend wanted out but was too afraid to do it. So he shrugged when Allen made the rounds and pestered him about the girl Neil certainly _was not _attracted to, and his cold insolence was beneficial in that Allen was quick to leave.

She came to his house that night when he was getting ready for bed. Startled, he turned from the sink where he was brushing his teeth only to feel her face pressed against his bare chest so close he could feel her tears on his abs the moment she let them fall. Her arms wrapped around his back in a desperate way, and the sob that rushed out of her shook him to his core.

He wasn't sure what to do. His mouth was full of toothpaste, and even if he'd known how to comfort her, the toothbrush in his hand left him without a proper way to soothingly rub her shoulders or something. He stood there, the minty toothpaste making his tongue tingle as the seconds wore on, elbows resting awkwardly on her shoulders, and it wasn't until her sobbing subsided that she finally released him.

Neil quickly spit out the toothpaste in the sink and washed his hands, but not quickly enough. Rachel was headed for the door, a slump in her shoulders telling of her embarrassment. She probably thought he'd rejected her with his quick turn to the sink.

"Hey..." He didn't know what he was doing. She was someone else's girlfriend, someone else's problem. He wasn't sure at what point along they way she'd suddenly become his best friend. Rachel turned to look at him, her eyes red, her nose runny. She'd never looked less pretty.

Neil opened his arms uncertainly. He met her gaze, willing his expression to remain neutral.

And then she was back again, warm wet face against his chest, hands on his shoulder blades, her shed tears rolling down his stomach and disappearing under his pajama pants.

"I'm not being an opportunist," he said uncomfortably, "but if you need to...ah, damn it, _cuddle_, we should probably go to the bed. My back hurts like this."

She giggled, amused through her tears at his discomfort, and followed him to sit on the bed. She glommed onto him again, and Neil tried not to think about the fact that she, she with her curves and breasts and _boyfriend_, was sitting on _his bed_.

Right. Not an opportunist at all.

But he wasn't, and they both knew that. Sobs tore through her as the minutes passed, and while they were eventually reduced to whimpers after the first hour, some not entirely selfless part of him didn't think it was wise for her to be alone that night. If nothing else, they had made themselves comfortable, sprawling on the black sheets, and every now and then her eyes would close for a few moments.

When a few more moments passed and they still hadn't reopened, Neil reached over her and flicked off the lamp. He pulled the covers up and edged as far away from her as was comfortably possible. As her breathing regularized, Neil stared at the darkness and willed the hours to pass slowly, for sleep to stay away.

* * *

"I broke up with him."

Neil wasn't prepared for the whirlwind of emotions that assaulted his body. Surprise, anger, affection, hope. They rendered him speechless. He stood gaping at her beneath the large tree.

Rachel twisted her hair in her hands, a nervous habit that he always found kind of funny and maybe a little bit cute. "He didn't take it well, but that's to be expected. He never thought a woman would be capable of not loving him, I guess."

Neil shrugged, the feigned nonchalance so forced it hurt, "Well, I'm happy for you. You've been worrying everyone."

"Have I been worrying you, though?"

He avoided looking at her, feeling the tension between them thicken. "I said 'everyone,' didn't I?"

She smiled then, as sweetly as only Rachel could. He heard the crunch of snow under her boots as she stepped closer. "I think I'm in love with you, Neil."

He swallowed. It sounded quite loud. Still looking at a fixed point behind her, a curious buzzing filled his ears. He became aware that it was the racing of blood through his head.

"I think you love me, too," she continued. Crunch, crunch.

"So what if I do?" he snapped, finally meeting her eyes, and that was his mistake. Her smile grew, and he wasn't sure what happened in the moments between that smile and her kissing him, but those thoughts seemed rather unimportant, given the whole kissing thing in the first place. Her lips were so soft, softer than he'd dared to imagine, and she was warm and pliant and womanly in the arms he hadn't realized had brought her closer. She made a pleased noise as he deepened the kiss, slanting his mouth on hers, but despite the lightning down his spine, despite his muddled thoughts, it was the first taste of her eager tongue brushing against his that brought him back to reality.

Disentangling himself from her embrace was the hardest thing he'd ever done, especially since she hadn't quite realized why he'd stopped and was still pulling him to her.

"Rachel, stop."

She opened her eyes, confusion etching itself into the crease between her delicate eyebrows.

He swallowed again, forced himself to look at her. "This isn't right."

She gasped, and it was really quite stunning how easily she bared her emotions to him. He could read hurt in every inch of her expression. "But-I-you said-"

Neil forced himself to say it as gently as he could. "I'm not going to be your rebound."

"You're not my _rebound_; I just…" she petered off. Now it was her turn to look him dead in the eyes. "Isn't it enough that I love you?"

Ouch. "It's—no, that's not my point," he sighed, running a hand through his hair. "It is enough. It _will _be enough once you're not feeling so…"

"Feeling so what?" Rachel raised an eyebrow, a dangerous look in her eyes.

"Damn it, Rachel, I just don't want to feel like a rebound, okay?" he bit out, his own eyes flashing. "It's more about me. There, you made me say it."

"'It's not you, it's me?'" she said mockingly.

_Whoa, she must be upset if she's _mocking_ me. _"That's not—Rachel, I'm not saying no." _Believe me, saying no is the exact opposite of what I want to do right now_. "Just give me some time to think things through."

She nodded slowly, the hurt receding a bit, though still present in her eyes. "Okay. Yeah. Okay. I'll do that. I'm…sorry."

"Don't—" _Don't be sorry, not for a kiss like that_. But she'd already turned and walked down the path to the plaza.

* * *

It wouldn't have been very Rachelish to avoid him, but that didn't mean she continued to pop in uninvited with a bowl of shrimp curry she'd "just happened" to have extra of. Neil would have liked to have told anyone who asked that he appreciated the time she was giving him to mull things over, but the truth was he missed her presence. Good thing no one asked.

She still would say hello to him when their paths crossed, or when she stopped to pick up some more fodder as winter drew to a close, but other than the occasional sad smile, she let him have his space. He supposed she thought she was doing what he asked, and she had, but…

But nothing. He _did_ need the time. If nothing else, he needed the time for Allen to get over nursing his broken heart so he'd be less likely to pick a fight with whomever Rachel's next boyfriend happened to be.

And so winter wore on, and Neil pondered and mused and deliberated and the days became less frigid and suddenly the Starry Night festival was approaching and it had been weeks since the breakup and he knew he'd made up his mind.

The morning of the twenty-fourth found Neil outside Rachel's door. The man of the hour bit his nails and stomped his feet, looking around as though someone else would be able to do _this_. He hoped she was still interested. He hoped she _hadn't _been merely looking for a rebound. He hoped…

He hoped nothing. He knocked on the door just as it swung open violently, meeting his face with an enthusiastic _thunk_.

Reeling and clutching his cheek—a bruise would definitely be forming—and prepared to wave away Rachel's apologies.

"Well, look who it is," a sneering voice taunted instead. "Speak of the devil. Go on in, Neil. She's waiting for you, I'm _sure_."

Allen marched off without so much as a "sorry for purpling your face," and Neil was left holding his cheek in one hand and the doorknob in another.

"Oh, by the Goddess, Neil, are you okay?" Rachel called from inside. He could hear tears threatening to crest in her voice.

"Mhm," he mumbled through his kind of numb jaw. "I'm coming in."

Rachel had a cloth-wrapped hunk of ice waiting for him after he'd closed the door behind him. Well, so much for his sweeping her off her feet. He accepted the icepack with an appreciative grunt and pressed it to his face.

"I'm sorry," Rachel said softly after a few moments. "He came to…well, I assume you can figure it out."

Neil nodded. He'd come for the same reason, really, only he wasn't going to grovel and beg her to take him back. Or whatever Allen did when he'd been rejected.

"I'm sorry he hurt you," she said again.

Neil only shook his head. "I'm fine, I said."

"What did he say to you?" she asked, peering quizzically at him. "It sounded like it wasn't something very nice."

He snorted. "Just that you'd been talking about me, really. He was kind of a brat about it."

"He was a brat," she agreed. "He accused me of breaking up with him purely because of _you_. I can't believe it never occurred to him that I might have ended it because I couldn't stand _him_."

Neil was stunned. A lesser man might have asked for emphasis on the _you didn't break up with him because of me, right_ part. Instead, "I can't believe he didn't see how unhappy you were with him. He must be stupid or something."

"I know." She smiled at him as she wiped her eyes with her fingers. Kind of an odd picture, but the gesture was sweet. "Was there something you wanted, by the way? It's not like you to pay needless social calls."

Well, this was it. Now or never. "Maybe now is a bad time," he hedged. _Coward_.

"No, anything you say will make me feel better."

_Now or never, Neil. For real this time._ "Okay. Well," he cleared his throat, "I came to ask you to do the whole Starry Night thing with me."

Rachel grinned, which was a promising start. "'Starry Night thing?'"

He scowled at her without meaning to. "What?"

"Are you asking me on a _date_?"

He opened his mouth to protest, but common sense won over embarrassment. "Yes," he said, defeated and embarrassed nonetheless. "I'm asking you on a date."

Her grin grew, which was even more promising. "Then I gladly accept."

"Oh. Cool. I guess I'll come pick you up at seven or something tomorrow," he said, ignoring his racing heart.

"Neil?"

"Yeah?"

She glanced up at him through her eyelashes. "I'd really like to kiss you right now."

And his heart stuttered to a halt.

Rachel's coy expression grew concerned. "Oh. I mean…unless you want to…I mean, is your cheek all right? I mean, no, it's fine, that was rude of me, and—"

Neil didn't let her finish. Removing the ice pack, he closed the distance between them and pressed his lips against hers. So maybe there was a twinge of pain, and maybe it wasn't the most skilled kiss he'd ever delivered, but the way her hands buried themselves in his hair immediately made him think he hadn't done such a bad job. They kissed again, a little more gently this time, and Neil bumped his forehead against hers.

"I really wanted to kiss you, too," he said softly, feeling a heavy blush form. "I don't think that's something I'll ever stop wanting to do."

Rachel laughed at his sap, and he glared at her, pulling away even as his blush deepened.

"Okay, fine. I don't do 'cute' anyway," he said gruffly. "I'll see you later, okay?"

"Don't forget about tomorrow," she said with a smile.

"Yeah, I won't," he muttered, buttoning up his coat to leave. She walked him to the door, and as he stood in the doorway with the snow whirling into her home and opened his mouth to say goodbye once more, she pressed the smallest, sweetest kiss against his uninjured cheek.

"Bye, Neil."

Perhaps he was an opportunist, Neil considered as he headed back to town, the feel of her lips burning on his cheek. Maybe he'd taken advantage of the situation after all. But at the moment, he was fairly certain they were both happier than they'd been in a while. And if that made him the bad guy, oh well. He was finding that he was pretty okay with that.

Allen gave Neil's bruised cheek a satisfied glare as they passed each other on the way to the restaurant for lunch that afternoon, but Neil gave him a friendly half-smile in response. That certainly deepened Allen's glare, and he could hear the stylist muttering unflattering things about him just loudly enough that Neil was sure to hear.

But it was Rachel the next night who said encouraging _I love you_s with her eyes as they were supposed to be star-gazing with the other couples, and it was Neil who kissed her deeply outside her front door, and it was Allen who was spending the night with a bottle of wine and no one else.

If this was opportunism, maybe there was something to be said about it, but Neil was fairly certain it was just a combination of luck and good decisions. Either way, what with Rachel's lips tracing his jawline and ghosting over his fading bruise, he found he really didn't give a damn.


End file.
